


The Courtesan

by Slytherin_vikiss



Series: Antony and Lysandra through time [1]
Category: A Courtesan of Rome (Visual Novel)
Genre: Antony is a prick but that's why we love him, Beauty is a curse, F/M, Fluvia, I'll add more when I think about them, Mentions of Rape, Other, i think, might turn into a series of one shots, sometimes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-10-14 09:58:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17506448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slytherin_vikiss/pseuds/Slytherin_vikiss
Summary: Series of One-Shots about Lysandra, one of Rome's most celebrated courtesans.





	1. The Favourite

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first time writing for a Choices book, and my first writing Marc Antony. I hope I did justice to the PB portrayl of him.  
> By the way, since it’s probably the first time you people are reading one of my crazy ideas, I’ll let you know that english isn’t my native language, so I apologize for any kind of mistake you may find here.  
> Book: A Courtesan of Rome  
> Pairing: Marc Antony x Mc (Lysandra)  
> Warnings: Some adult content near the end, mentions of rape.  
> So,...hope you like it :)

**The Favourite**

 

Lysandra hummed absent-mindedly as she braided the child’s shiny hair. Around her, the trees stood in perfect lines, their thinner branches dancing at the rhythm of the breeze, evoking the most beautiful music from the leaves.

Goosebumps rose on her arms, but she ignored the sudden change in temperature, closing her eyes and inhaling. If she ignored the sounds of the street and the mixed smells that came from them, she could almost pretend that she was back in her precious Gaul. She could hear her mother praying nearby, while her brother tried and failed at capturing game, his footsteps so loud they could be heard all the way to Alexandria. Her father would be further away, discreetly removing any marks so that Cingerix couldn’t follow and ruin his hunt.

“An elephant makes less sound, brother.”she would tease, just for the sheer pleasure of seeing his face contorting into a frown and turning red at the insult.

“Shut up! You’ve never seen an elephant.”

“But I hear they are big, so they must be loud. Not as much as you, of course.”

She would smile from ear to ear, and turn to her mother, who by that time would already be losing her patience.

“You should have left him in that ditch.”

She often did that, tell her brother that he was not really her blood. Lysandra would tell him how their mother found him in a ditch, covered in mud. Mother never found the lie amusing, but father fueled the fire, speaking in a grave tone of how he hadn’t wanted to keep him, but Delphinia insisted. When Cingerix back was turned, father and daughter would share an identical smirk. 

“Shut up!”

“Lysandra, be nice to your brother.” spoke Delphinia from her spot, opening one eye.

“Oh, alright. What does a girl have to do to get some fun around here?”

She would also call him butter at times, meaning that he was too soft. Of course he wasn’t, but it was so easy to rile him up, the temptation was simply impossible to resist. In turn, he would pull her hair, which she took care of with zealous hands, and the fight would end for the day.

She loved her brother, but she also loved to laugh at his expense. He knew it, but his temper got the better of him more often than not.

Despite him being a funny hot head, Lysandra worried. Her father said, when Cingerix wasn’t around, that it was a good thing that he was the youngest. Victus thought  his temper would make him a bad leader for the Catauni.

“You are colder than he is. It will help when the time for harsh decisions arrives.”

She never forgot that. As her years in Rome passed, she threatened to mimic her brother more erratic behaviour. It got the best of her in few occasions; when she murdered Glycia’s son, and later on when she got rid of Legate Aquila.

Sabina had been relieved, but then her father married her off again, and Lysandra almost cried at the injustice of it. At least, her friend’s new husband had a kind hand.

Nobody ever caught the culprit, and as the years passed, she didn’t relax. Sabina said that nobody would find her, and that after all those years, Aquila’s name was just a whisper in a crowded room.

“And even if someone did find out,” she said one day as they dined together, taking a grape with delicate movements “they wouldn’t dare to accuse you out of fear of Antony.”

Lysandra suspected that Antony knew it had been her, but he never said anything and in the rare occasion where Aquila was brought up, he’d brushed off the subject.

“Who cares about the death of a traitor?” he would say, once he paused his constant drinking, only to resume it shortly after.

Still, Lysandra knew she would look over her shoulder ‘till the day she died. Not out of guilt, but out of fear for her daughter. Who would look after her if she was imprisoned? ir she was dead? Who would care for the bastard child of a courtesan?

Shaking her head, Lysandra opened her eyes, her happy memories now spoiled, the sounds of the city somehow intensified.

She finished the braid and ceased her humming.

“Can I go now?”

Lysandra smiled.

“No. Never.”

The child tried to flee, rising on short legs and attempting to jump, but her mother caught her immediately, wrapping her arms around the child’s tiny waist and pulling her down on the grass with her. She peppered her face with kisses, and her sides with tickles, and the girl’s laughter invaded the garden, filling it with the joy only the youngest and innocence possesed.

After a few moments, Lysandra gave truce, letting herself fall on top of the grass, not caring about her clothes or her hair, smiling softly at the sky, looming shyly over the trees.

Antonia’s face appeared above her, a toothless smile showing. Lysandra pinched her cheek.

“Mother, will I be pretty like you when I grow up?”

Lysandra looked back at the sky, delicately chewing on her bottom lip.

“Beauty is not as important as it seems, my dove.”

“But will I?”

She swallowed. After some years she had grown, for the most part, tired of hearing people praising her looks. It was a gift and a curse. Her beauty saved her life, but it also got some of her worst memories.

Sometimes, at night, she would wake up sweating and crying, begging the soldiers to stop.

Lena hadn’t been able to chase her nightmares away. Cassius couldn’t either, the one time she had them in his company.

Antony never said anything when she had them. He would awake at the slightest movement, ever the soldier, and would watch her in silence as she looked around, slowly coming back to consciousness, as she recognized her own rooms. Lysandra would then feel his hand at the small of her back, and keeping the tears at bay and avoiding eye contact -because even after all those years, she refused to show him weakness-, she would laid back down, gently placing her head on his chest, not moving an inch as he gently wrapped his arm around her.

Maybe, if she weren’t so pretty, the soldiers would have just killed her. Or they would have raped her anyway, but slit her throat afterwards, if Aquila hadn’t seen her and decided that she was off limits.

“I’ll make some coin out of you.”he had said as he dragged her back to the cage, where her mother wept and her father sat still, hands clenched into fists at his side.

She often wondered, as she saw the soldiers patrolling the streets, if one of them had been there that day. She couldn’t hunt them down and kill them because she didn’t remember their faces, and hoped they didn’t remember hers.

She supposed beauty didn’t matter when one was spoils of war. She supposed she couldn’t do much to protect Antonia from men, and often she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, until the Gods answered her questions or she lost her voice, whichever came first.

She should have gotten rid of the child, but no, she was stupid enough to tell Antony first. He forbade her from trying anything reckless, and with the slaves always in some corner or another, she didn’t dare to defy him.

She should have given the child away right after the birth. How, she didn’t know, but that idea came crumbling down when Antonia was placed in her arms for the first time, covered in blood and crying like there was no tomorrow.

“Why do you ask me this?” Lysandra returned instead, avoiding eye contact.

“Uncle Lucius told me a story, about a woman who was so pretty, that a prince took her and started a war.”

“Helen of Troy?”

“Yes! Her!”the child frowned, her mother’s eyes still escaping her. “But then father walked in and he said that,...”

“I said that Helen of Troy would weep in envy at the sight of your mother.”

Lysandra turned her head quickly upon hearing Antony's voice in time to see him approaching. He looked tired, but satisfied with himself.

Antonia's dark eyes lit up, and this time when she got up, her mother didn’t stop her. She ran towards her father and jumped into his arms, giggling in delight when he easily caught and lifted her up.

“Have you grown taller?”he asked, his hand messing up Antonia’s hair, to which the girl nodded eagerly.

“I did, didn’t I mother? And look! I lost a tooth!”

“It’s been a week since we last saw you.”Lysandra stated, sitting up slowly.

Ever since giving her the villa, Antony had spent most of his time there. The days in which he didn’t sleep by her side were few and far in between unless he wasn’t in Rome at all, and she had grown more worried as each day went by, going as far as to forbade Antonia from leaving the villa.

She wouldn’t tell him that though.

“Ah, yes. I’ve been busy.” was his vague answer as he set Antonia down. “Go prepare for dinner. I must speak to your mother.”

“But,...”

“Now.”

Upon hearing her father’s command, Antonia closed her mouth and marched up the steps, Artemis following slowly behind.

Lysandra followed the movements of the hound with concern. Artemis was old, it was a surprise she was still alive, but everyday that Lysandra woke up and found the hound still lived, she would breath in relief and scratch her behind her big ears, thanking whatever gods were out there.

Antony’s eyes followed her trail.

“Don’t worry. I have more hounds. I will take you to choose one whenever you want.”

“I don’t want another one. I want her.” she declared, pointing at Artemis as she disappeared with Antonia.

Antony smirked.

“You can’t keep her alive out of stubbornness.”

“We’ll see.”

This time he laughed, walking towards her and wrapping her in his arms.

He kissed her ferociously, and she eagerly returned his affections, placing a hand on his chest, the other on hi jaw, feeling the growing beard.

He moved, forcing her to walk backwards until her back hit a tree, and a soft breath abandoned her as his kisses descended to her neck, which she exposed happily to him.

Heat rose all over her, and suddenly, her clothes were unbearable. Her hips moved without her consent, brushing against Antony’s, earning an animalistic sound in return.

“I see you have missed me.” she said, her voice light and faltering.

“Everyday.”

Lysandra wrapped her leg around his hips, and the hand Antony placed on her thigh was as hot as the midday sun.

As her hands reached for his toga, Antony stopped, taking her hands off him and placing some distance between their bodies.

Lysandra watched him closely, her leg sliding down his, earning her a look of warning. She was still leaning against the tree, her back slightly arched towards him. Her hair was probably a mess, and her face felt hot.

“Keep that up, woman and,...”

“And what? What will you do?” she challenged him, a predatory gleam in her eyes.

“I’ve got news.” he said instead, and without waiting for further inquiry, continued “Fluvia is with child.”

Lysandra’s blood went cold, and her smile stood frozen. She forced herself to keep up the mask, while on the inside, an animal paced in its cage, trying to set itself free.

The princess didn’t really care for Antony’s wife. Their paths had crossed in few occasions, and she suspected that Fluvia didn’t like her very much, but Lysandra had long ago learned to ignore her patrons jealous wives. She was just doing her job, surviving in a nest of snakes, and simply didn’t have time to worry about them.

But Fluvia was different. She had known Antony for longer than she had, she had challenged him before Lysandra had. She still lived in Gaul and Antony was already in her bed.

This was the third time he delivered such news since they were together. Fluvia had already given him a son, had lost the second, and now she had the third on the way. Would it be another boy? Would Antony favour that mother and child over Antonia and herself?

She didn’t have to worry about Fluvia though. It had been some years since Antony and her had come to an exclusive arrangement, and ever since he gifted her the villa she now resided in, Antony had spent most of his nights in her arms, their bodies so wrapped around each other it was difficult to say where one started and the other ended.

Still, Lysandra worried. How much longer would she be the favourite? What would happen to her and her daughter when Antony got bored of them? Lena wouldn’t allow a child in her scholae.

“My congratulations.”she said, trying to sound sincere, swallowing the lump in her throat.

She told herself it wasn’t jealousy. Lena had gotten rid of such emotion years ago during her training.

“Is that where you have been this past days?” she asked, internally wincing.

She hated it when she spoke without thinking.

Antony’s smirk widened.

“As a matter of fact, yes. Why do you ask?”

Lysandra shrugged, looking to her left with fake disinterest.

“Antonia missed you; she asked for you all the time.”

“Right. Of course. I have missed her as well.”

When he didn’t say anything else, Lysandra counted to three internally, and then untangled her leg, straightening her clothes with casual motions.

“I should head inside before it gets colder.”

She made attempt to walk around him, but he blocked her path. Frowning, Lysandra tried once more, only to be grabbed by the arm and abruptly turned so that her back was tightly pressed against Antony’s chest.

“You are not jealous of her, now, are you?” he whispered in her ear, his voice dark and rough sending shivers down her spine.

Lysandra closed her eyes and pressed her legs together, trying to hide her body’s betrayal.

“In your dreams, perhaps.” she managed to answer.

He chuckled darkly, pushing her against the wall and flexing his hips, earning a gasp in return.

“Of course you’re not, dear.” he breathed, hurriedly lifting her skirts and entering her with one swift move. “You know you are my favourite.”

He fucked her against the wall with purpose, one of his hands over her mouth in order to cover her moans, the other holding her tightly against his chest.

Lysandra relished in his embrace, and threw her head back, placing it on his shoulder as the pleasure took over her senses, the hand that wasn’t entwined with Antony’s reaching for him, bringing his head down so she could kiss him.

His hand eventually moved from her mouth to her hip, not longing caring about a slave seeing them, and thrusting with abandon, each stroke harder and faster than the previous one.

Antony pressed his face into her hair as they finished, their voices dying down, the echo lost among the trees.

They didn’t move immediately, both still recovering.

Saying that she was  _ ‘the favourite’ _ was as close to an  _ ‘I love you’ _ as she would ever get from Antony, and Lysandra took it gladly. because 

She no longer wanted to spite him, to tell him that Cassius would have divorced the second she asked him to. There was no need to bring up a ghost; it would only hurt them both.

For the time being, as Antony made a trail of soft kisses on the back of her neck, she was safe, she was protected.

He still loved her, even if he never said it, and that was proven once more during dinner that night, when he presented her with a new necklace of pearls and rubies. 

He only gave her jewelry when he pissed her off.

Needless to say, she had plenty of trinkets laying around.


	2. The Wife & The Mistress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lysandra receives an unexpected visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick history lesson to give you context:
> 
> Caesar is dead by the hands of the Senate, and the main conspirators are Cassius and Brutus. What these Liberatores didn’t anticipate was the people love for Caesar. Antony took advantage of this and won their support. Cassius and Brutus fled to Greece to rise an army.
> 
> Octavian was Caesar’s adopted son and heir, so when he came to Rome, and a threat to Antony. Octavian was his sole heir and he began to take the people’s favour away from our boi. I believe he also took a few legions, even though he didn’t have authorization to command armies.
> 
> The Philippics were these speeches Cicero wrote against Antony around 44BC. There were 13 of them, I think, and they were made to undermine him.
> 
> When Antony’s time as a consul was coming to an end, the senate assigned him the province of Macedonia. Antony rejected this and asked to govern over Cisalpine Gaul, which belonged to one of the men who had murdered Caesar. When this man, Decimus, refused to surrender his province, Antony marched there with some of the soldiers he had left and took it by force. More shit went down after that -a lot of shit, actually-, but is not relevant to what happens in this one-shot.
> 
> By the way, Fulvia was a real woman. She was Antony’s 3rd wife, and she was very active politically. That was something almost unheard of in Ancient Rome.

**This one-shot takes place a few years before “The Favourite”.**

  
  


**The Wife & The Mistress**

  
  


 

There was a melody stuck on Lysandra’s head. She sang it constantly when alone, but didn’t know the words.

She didn’t like singing it in front of other people, although there were a few exceptions, like Antonia, who in any case couldn’t replicate it, she being only a few months old. Antony also had heard the melody a few times, when she was too tired or too distracted to notice or care.

She had the melody stuck in her head; of a song her mother used to sing to make her fall asleep. 

She remembered the time she decided that she was too old for lullabies. She was to be chieftain, and chieftains of Gaul didn’t need lullabies to fall asleep. Her mother continued to sing the song, but only for Cingerix. Lysandra tried to be a big girl and make her father proud, and she tried to prove to the people of the tribe that she would be as good and fair as Victus.

But sometimes, she would sneak out of her bed and crawl until she was just outside Cingerix’s room, and would sit on the cold floor of dirt and listen as her mother sung the song.

Victus almost always caught her in the act, but he never reprimanded her for it. He only winked and took her in his arms, threatening to drop her and shaking her from one side to the other while she laughed. Her father would never drop her; Cingerix, maybe (if he was being particularly whiny), but she was his little pride and joy. It almost seemed as if Lysandra could do anything and everything, and Victus would still smile before taking her with him around their homeland, teaching her the ways of their people and how to help them.

That particular day, as it threatened to rain and Antonia wouldn’t stop crying, the princess of Gaul wished she hadn’t allowed Victus to take her away all those times. Maybe, if she had listened to the lullaby more often, she would remember the words.

Maybe she would also remember her mother’s voice.

“Diona.”she called, cradling the crying child in her arms, her voice nearing desperation.

“Yes, domina.” came the slave to her rescue.

“Here, hold her. I shall go see Locusta, maybe she will have something for her.”

Little Antonia’s teeth were trying to cut through, and she had become a nightmare for her parents. 

“How about I knock down a tooth or two, yes? That way, you can accompany her in the suffering. Maybe you’ll learn some sympathy.”she had told Antony one time as they broke fast, right after he complained about the crying for the hundredth time.

He had laughed at her words, and later on apologized. He wasn’t really sorry though, he just loved to get on her nerves.

Diona took the child carefully, and Lysandra gave her an appreciative look. 

“You’ve gained weight.”she commented light-heartedly, taking a sip of wine.

The slave had only been in her household for a  year; she had been brought by Antony after another slave girl had snickered at Lysandra when she complained about her back pain. She was already with child, but not far enough for that to be the cause of her pain. It was all due to bad weather and a night sleeping in a bad position. 

Antony had had an arm wrapped around her waist, and his other hand was too busy rubbing the middle of her back when he heard the girl, sharp eyes falling on her almost immediately.

He took her by the neck and had her whipped four times, only to sell her the next day.

He came back with Diona, a small little thing, more bones than anything else, and a messy blond nest atop her head. Lysandra liked the girl; she had a gentleness about her that made her feel at ease, and was one of the few slaves allowed to be near Antonia, one of the two allowed to hold and care for her as well.

Diona’s cheeks gained colour at the comment.

“I promise I’ve only eaten the same as the other slaves, domina. Nothing more or less.”

Lysandra patted her cheek, still sharp, but of a healthy pink.

“It’s not an accusation, just an observation. You look better now.”

“Thank you, domina.”

“See if you have better luck making her fall asleep.”she indicated, nodding towards the crying baby.

Diona nodded and headed off, probably to the child’s room or the garden, Artemis trotting behind them, her tail moving, whipping the air as she went.

“Bring me my cloak.” she told a young boy whose name escaped her.

He went off and she headed towards the entrance, the melody still present on her mind despite her current worries.

“I must insist,...Domina, my apologies, but this woman is persistent.”  one of the guards that Antony had guarding her when he was out spoke hurriedly, walking into the atrium behind a strange woman.

Lysandra gave her a quick look. The woman looked more Celtic than she did, with hair that was a strange but pretty mix of blonde and red, clear eyes and skin. She dressed in fine robes, which meant she must have been nobility.

The woman returned the favour, a small sneer on her face.

Lysandra forced herself to smile, stepping closer and extending her arms in a welcoming manner.

“Good day. This must be the first time we met, for I am most certain I wouldn’t forget such a lovely face.”

The woman’s face wasn’t so lovely, mainly because her nose took up most of the space.

“So, you are the reason why my husband neglects me.”

Lysandra rose an eyebrow, finally giving name to the stranger. 

That must have been Fulvia, Antony’s new wife. The previous one, his cousin Antonia, had been thrown out of his house after her affair with one of Antony’s friend. He hadn’t really cared about the affair, but apparently, Antonia wasn’t the smartest nor the most discreet woman in Rome, and he hadn’t enjoyed the humiliation when the rumors got out.

It took her days to calm him down, and he only stopped when she mentioned how she had run into Cassius -she hadn’t-, and how he had complimented her new dress.

He married Fulvia the next year, and Lysandra sighed in relief when he came back to her bed exactly two days later, right after the dinner party the husband held per tradition. It was a relief to the courtesan when Antony didn’t need to visit his wife again; she became with child immediately. Instead, he stayed with her and her more protuberant belly, and didn’t leave even after she gave birth, those first days when she was in too much pain to do much of anything.

Lysandra had been surprised. She had expected him to seek company elsewhere the minute she got too big or even after she gave birth, but he stayed by her side, even during the process of labor.

The priestess that was overseeing the procedure was most disturbed, but too scared to get  him out of the room.

Her heart fluttered at the memory of the day, of how his arms felt so different yet the same as he held her against him, placing a wet cloth on her sweaty forehead and whispering in her ear about all she could do once she was done. And the way he held her,...the way he looked at her when Antonia was placed in her arms,...

She averted her gaze, coming back to the present, and focused instead on the water of the pool.

“Yes, I suppose that is I. You must be Fulvia; Antony has spoken about you.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the wife rolling her own, stepping closer.

“Of course he hasn’t.”

But he had, in fact, spoken of Fulvia. He told her how she was married to her second husband when she invited him into her bed, and that had been going on for years. He stopped his visits when he took Lysandra as his official mistress -at least he claimed such- and married her for her fortune and brains.

Until that moment, Fulvia had been but a distant idea. Having her in the home Antony had given her, with clear signs of being near to delivery, was a hard slap in the face.

“I’m afraid your husband is not here at the moment, but you’re more than welcome to wait. Should I ask for some bread and cheese?” she built up courage to look at her again, smiling charmingly as she waved a hand at the slave that was the nearest.

“I find myself hating bread and cheese these days, but I do crave apples.”

“Very well. Some water, perhaps?”

“Please.”

The slave disappeared, the guard took place against a wall without emitting sound, and both of them stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment.

“Please, forgive my manners and take a seat.”she took a step and attempted to place a hand on the woman’s arm, her intention that of helping to guide her to the chair, but she batted her away and Lysandra stood back, pressing her lips into a thin line.

When Fulvia sat and looked up, Lysandra was smiling again, her expression that of a woman who had not a care in the world.

She didn’t say anything as Fulvia looked her up and down once more, daring her to be the one to make conversation.

She took a peek at the sun, and hoped to Mercury that Antony would return soon.

“I can see why he would change me for you. You’re quite beautiful.”

“Thank you. You are as,...”

“Please, girl. We both know I’m not.” she took the glass of water the slave offered and sipped, keeping her clear eyes locked on Lysandra’s face. “But I got Antony’s attention thanks to my intellect, not by spreading my legs.”

The princess pictured herself spitting on Fulvia’s face, and her smiled stood in place.

“Can someone not have both?”she asked, rejecting the food that was being offered.

“Oh, yes. But you? I doubt you have much in that head of yours.”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

“Can they? Perhaps for who needs to lie to survive, like the men of the senate, for example. If politicians were honest, they’d be out of job.”

Her fake giggle resonated around the atrium.

“I believe you just insulted your husband.”

“Did I?”Fulvia asked, shrugging while she took the peeled apple from the hands of the slave and cut a slice, taking it to her mouth. “Well, he deserves it, insulting me by having you here, by living here, instead of with his family.”

Lysandra forced herself to remain still and hide her true feelings. She wasn’t comfortable in the company of this woman, and she wanted to return the insults, but that simply wasn’t wise.

“You speak as if I held him captive.”

“Maybe you do. Who knows?” she swallowed and cut another slice “That must be it. I’ve known Antony for a long time, and the only explanations for his constant absence from my bed is that he is your prisoner, or you have a cunt to rival Venus herself.”

By the Gods, she wanted to punch that woman.

“Well, maybe I’m just better company.”

Fulvia narrowed her eyes, and then set them on the fruit on her hands.

“I’ve had children before, but this is the first one that makes me crave apples. Did you crave them as well?”

“No. I preferred peaches.”

“Ah, I see.” Fulvia smiled, showing a row of small teeth “Peaches are nice. The taste is not bad, but do you know what the best part is?

“No. But please, enlighten me.”

_ Choke on a cock- _ she wanted to say.

“The juices.”she answered, staring at the half-eaten apple as if in a trance. “The juices drip between your fingers and they get sticky. Is almost like holding a decapitated head and letting the blood run.”

Lysandra arched a perfect eyebrow. One of her guards, standing against the wall behind Fulvia, shifted on his place, clearly uncomfortable.

“That is oddly specific,”she sighed, placing her cup of wine on the table and leaning back, using her hands as support “and completely unnecessary.”

“Is it? I think it is urgent that I make myself clear.”

“Then take it up to Antony, if you think I’m so dangerous that a visit and a threat are needed.”

“You will convince him to go back home.”

“I will do no such thing.” Lysandra muttered through a clenched jaw.

Fulvia stood with uncharacteristic grace for someone heavy with child and leaned over the Gallic princess, a meanincing frown on her lips.

“People are making fun of the family because of you.”

“Are you talking about those stupid drawings on the wall? A child could do better.” Lysandra choose to play around the real subject, rolling her eyes and crossing her legs. “Although the one where he had two cocks was rather interesting. Can you imagine such thing? How fun it would be! I’ve been giving it some thought, Antony would definitely find many ways of using the extra companion.”

She bit back a snort upon seeing the irritation on the woman’s face, but couldn’t find it in herself to care. She was just surviving as best as she could, and was lucky enough to have become the mistress of a powerful man who she also had some affection for. She wasn’t about to ruin it all by cowering before a bitter wife and running back to hide behind Lena’s skirts.

“Listen,” Fulvia took her face in one hand, forcing her to look at her “you may not care about his career, but I would hate to find myself with a disgraced husband, who threw it all away for a pretty face.”

“Thank you for the compliment. I shall do my best.”

Fulvia’s eyes blazed with fury, and she roughly stood up, letting go of Lysandra’s face.

“Gods, you can be so alike.”

“Well, well, what a happy surprise.”

They both turned, jumping in surprise upon hearing the new voice, and found Antony himself, arms crossed over his chest, leaning against a bust of Juno, a smug smile on his handsome face.

“Husband.”

“You shouldn’t be going out, Fulvia, is dangerous.”

“I’ve had children before. There is nothing to worry about.”

Antony walked towards them, his steps measured, his expression unreadable.

“Do as I say.”

Fulvia’s hands clenched into fists.

“First I must speak to you.”

“Great!” he smiled, offering her his arm “We shall do so on the way out.”

“But,...”

He took her away before she could continue, shooting Lysandra a brief look she chose to avoid. Her hands shook in fury and humiliation, but she refused to cry.

She waited, body tense and ears sharp, for the moment in which the heavy doors were closed, but such sound never came.

The minutes dragged, and losing her patience, Lysandra stood, choosing instead to pace across the atrium, circling the pool, finding the sound of the slave getting water from it and even the chirping of the birds annoying.

She gritted her teeth and pictured a sword in her hand, the blade staining itself in blood as she buried and went through Fulvia’s…

“Was she too much of a bother?”

Antony’s voice got her out of her musings, and she looked at him with mild surprise, not having heard him coming in. Lysandra forced herself to compose her face into one of indifference.

“Not at all. She misses you, that’s all.”

Antony snorted, getting closer to her.

“I doubt it. Now, stop lying.” he said, his piercing eyes firmly on her, the warning so passing only those who knew him well would notice it.

Lysandra put a cease to her walking, taking a finger to her lips and gently biting the side.

“It seems that she has also been reading the words of your dear Cicero’s.” she said, recurring to honesty. She had already been in a battlefield with Antony’s wife, she didn’t have the energy nor desire to repeat the procedure with the man itself “She wanted me to send you home to her.”

“The child she carries must be affecting her brains if she truly thinks that returning to her will be of any help.”

“Won’t it?” she asked.

She didn’t really know Cicero, but had heard plenty of him. The man knew everything about Rome and its people, and had taken it upon himself to antagonize Antony with those speeches. Every few days there came a new one to be read in front of a crowd, and despite Lysandra’s seemingly careless attitude, she worried for her lover. Caesar was dead, and with him gone, nothing stopped the other senators from attacking Antony. Most still feared him, but for how much longer?

There had been a new one that very same day, and the princess had to admit that the change in attitude in Antony was unsettling. Usually, when a speech was realised, he would storm into the villa yelling and throwing things about. The slaves had taken to making themselves invisible, the guards to try and become one with the colourful walls, and only Lysandra remained in plain sight every time, ready to put him at ease.

“The damage is done.”Antony answered, sitting heavily “If I stay, he will either repeat himself or won’t touch the subject again. If I go to Fulvia, he will write that I’m letting myself be handled by women.”

“So staying is the best option.” she concluded, trying not to sound too smug.

“No need to pretend. I imagine it makes you happy.”

Antony took some bread and oil, and Lysandra took it upon herself to serve him wine.

“Where are the slaves?”he asked, watching her with a small frown.

_ Hiding from you. _

“I sent them away so I could speak to you privately.”

She sat down next to him and placed a hand on his knee.

“Don’t worry about Fulvia. Is nothing personal; she just enjoyed the power I had while Caesar was alive.”he reassured her, taking a  bite of his bread.

“That’s not what I want to talk about.” was her slow answer.

Antony made a gesture with his hand, and Lysandra cleared her throat, gathering her thoughts.

“You will be leaving soon, won’t you?”

“Aye. The Senate insists that I govern Macedonia.”

“But you want Gaul.”

“I want Cisalpine, and I will have it.”

“So, you’re going to take it by force.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Take me with you.”

He paused for a moment and slowly turned to look at her, swallowing his bread at the same speed.

“What?”

“Antonia as well.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“No! But you will leave us alone and unprotected, at the mercy of the senate!”

“I plan to double your guard.”

“That won’t make a difference.” she insisted.

Antony dropped his food and moved in his seat so that he was fully facing her.

“Why are you so worried? They don’t have a reason to hurt you.”

“I have your child.”

“A girl. Illegitimate. They won’t care.”

She knew he didn’t say it with malice, but as a simple fact; still, the declaration hurt.

“And now, thanks to Cicero, everybody knows you practically live here.”

“And what do you think will happen? You think Octavian will take you hostage to lure me in?” he snorted.

“You wouldn’t come for me?” she asked softly, removing her hand from his knee and leaning back. “You don’t care enough?”

“If there is anyone he would try to go against, it would be my wife, and,...”

“And she has her ancestry to protect her, and the friends of her first husband!”she interrupted, getting up from her seat and turning her back to him. “I don’t feel safe in Rome without you, Antony. Especially now, that we have Antonia and Caesar is gone.”

“And Cassius.”

“This isn’t about him.”

“I bet you wish he was still here, don’t you? Or maybe, you wish to be with him in Greece?”

“Why are you like this?” she turned again to find him standing at arm's length. When he had moved, she had no idea. “ You know, he wanted me to run with him, even said I could take Antonia, but I stayed! I stayed! For you!”

“I know.”

The sudden silence hung heavily between them. Lysandra closed her mouth, taking in the new information, while he simply looked at her, almost as slumped as the day Caesar had died.

“Since when?”

“Since he fled. I have eyes everywhere.”

She looked away, tears blurring her vision and burning, urging to get out. She wasn’t about to cry. 

The Gods must have been enjoying the spectacle. Cassius had cared too much for her, but she hadn’t cared in equal measure. Now she cared too much for Antony,...but how much he cared for her wasn’t clear, and that was more painful than not caring at all.

“Do as you like.”

_ And I hope your consciousness allows you to live with your decision- _ she wanted to add, but swallowed back the words.

“Lysa…”

She fled to her rooms before he could speak.

* * *

 

**T** hat night she laid in one side of the bed, her back turned to the other, which remained empty.

The cold breeze opened itself way into the room and she shivered, but refused to move. 

She had spent the rest of the afternoon locked up, thinking of Cassius and Antony, and cursing Venus for her misfortune.

Had she fled with Cassius that day, would she be in a similar position, yearning for Antony? Most likely.

They were as different as two men could be, but she wanted them in equal measure.

She rid her mind of all thoughts of love, willing herself to fall asleep. The next day, she’d have to start plotting again, since there was no amount of guards who could protect her -at least, she was convinced of such-.

She heard soft footsteps, the sound of fabric against skin, and felt as the other side of the bed dipped underneath the added weight.

Strong arms encircled her waist and she tried to pull away. It was to no avail, for the hold around her only tightened, and a chest pressed up against her back.

She felt his hot breath in her ear and remained still.

“I’ve given it some thought.”

She waited, still as a board, as Antony placed a few kisses on the back of her neck.

“And?”

“Women aren’t supposed to be in war camps.”

“I’ll be quiet.”

He chuckled in her ear, nuzzling her neck.

“Oh no. I’ll make sure of it.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Leave me alone. I’m tired.”

“But, I don’t plan on staying on camp for too long, and I’m sure you won’t mind the place for a short period of time.”

“I won’t.”

“Then, start packing and pick a few slaves to take.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

She turned in his arms and placed her hands on his chest, looking up with a smile. Antony’s own eyes were warm as he gently moved a lock of hair away from her face.

“I won’t let you or our daughter to get hurt. And if you think Rome is dangerous for you, then we shall all leave.”

She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his in an eager kiss, one that was corresponded with the same energy.

“Thank you! Thank you!”

He leaned back for a moment to caress her face almost delicately, as if trying to memorize the feel of her skin and the shape it took. He opened his mouth and she waited in anticipation, expecting to hear three short words.

...But then he closed his it and instead, rolled her onto her back, kissing her with a passion that took her breath away.

She understood the message.

  
  



	3. The Other Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot takes place a few years before “The Wife and The Mistress” and “The Favourite”.  
> Also, this was inspired by the line “I’m all booked up”, from the movie “Dangerous Beauty.” It’s about Veronica Franco, a real woman who was a courtesan and a poet in XVI century Italy.

**The Other Men**

 

 

  
  


Senator Quintus had purchased Lysandra’s services for the evening, and even if she had wanted to, she wouldn’t have been able to refuse.

_ ´At least,´ _ she thought, walking slowly through the crowded room, her arm linked to the senator’s ´ _ I don’t have to fuck him tonight.´ _

She wasn’t in the mood to pretend lust that night, and apparently, neither was the senator. And even if he was, with all the wine he had had -and the festivities were not even half way through- it would be simply an embarrassing waste of time.

Quintus leaned over to whisper in her ear some story about the most peculiar preferences of the man they had just greeted, and then he bit her earlobe in what, she suspected, he considered a sensual manner.

Truth be told, he only hurt her with the gesture; but she giggled anyway and gave in return a playful shove.

Extending her arm, a slave stepped forward from the shadows and filled her cup with wine, only to disappear as quickly as he had come.

Senator Lucius approached her, a lecherous sime on his ugly face.

“Lysandra, my sweet!” he greeted, kissing both her cheeks and then addressing her buyer of the night “Do you mind if I steal her for a moment?”

Quintus waved her away with his hand, face buried in a cup of wine, and she replaced the hold he had on her for that of Lucius, who wasted no time in leading her away.

“How have you been, Senator?”

She couldn’t care less.

“I’m as good as expected, my sweet, considering how little I see you.”

“Make an appointment then. Indulge us both.”she smiled at him, barely leaning closer to him.

In answer, the man’s small eyes darted down to her cleavage.

“This friday?”

“Perfect! I can’t wait.”

She walked away from him, slowly untangling her arm from his, gifting him a coy smile as she went, suppressing a snort at his expression. 

Around her, the party went on. Nobles talked amongst themselves, congregated into small groups, snickering and staring in the direction of whoever was in a lower station. Dancer had taken the center of the impluvium, and they slowly moved to the rhythm of music played so low Lysandra couldn’t be certain it was there at all. She walked into the triclinium, respectfully bowing her head to a passing noblewoman that walked past her.

“I thought your arm was chained to Quintus`.”

She jumped, turning to her left to find Antony leaning against the wall, arms crossed and a crooked smile on place. Even though his face showed amusement, his eyes told a very different story.

“I was, actually, but I found the key.”

He chuckled briefly.

“You left him chained in the stables, I should hope.”

“No. In the pigsty.”

“He has one of those?”

“Oh yes. Though he prefers to call it a ` _ bedchamber _ `.” she smiled at his laughter, taking a small sip of her wine.

“You shouldn’t be insulting your patron.”

“You shouldn’t be insulting your host.”

“Careful,”he warned, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a raspy whisper as he looked her up and down. She was dressed in a deep red that subtly suggested purple “you wouldn’t want to get in trouble with me, girl.”

She leaned towards him, a predatory smirk on place.

“Actually, I would.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, ignoring the celebration around them as they measured the other.

Finally, he took her arm.

“Walk with me, princess.”

She went gladly. Antony lifted his hand, in which he held a bunch of grapes, and instead of taking one with her own fingers, she bit down the fruit, taking a single grape between her teeth.

“It’s not very good.”

“Yes, Quintus has bad taste.” he looked her up and down once more “Well, for  _ some  _ things.”

“You think flattery will get you somewhere?”

“I don’t know, will it?”

“Possibly.”

They made it into the pérystile, dimly lit by the own moon and torches, and Lysandra rested her back against a column, sighing at the soft summer breeze that found its way through the silk that adorned her body.

A strand of hair fell across her face, and Antony took it with rough fingers, placing it behind her ears. Instead of dropping his hand, the same followed a path seemingly only visible for him, down her face, neck, and sliding a finger between her breasts until he found fabric again.

Lysandra tried to ignore the sparks that threatened to ignite a fire inside of her.

“You know, I’ve recently discovered that I don’t like it when you attend someone else.”

_ Well, you and Cassius finally have something in common. _

“That’s inconvenient, since I’m rather popular around here.”

“Yes, it’s true.” he conceded slowly, intently staring into her eyes.

He wanted to fuck her, she could tell. She wanted him too. Maybe Jupiter would strike down every guest in the villa and leave them be.

“We should leave and go to my villa.”he stated boldly.

Lysandra raised an eyebrow.

“Whatever for?”

“You know what for.”

“I’m afraid not.”

He stepped closer, his chest brushing hers, noses almost touching.

“So that I can fuck you without these idiots listening.”

She felt the wetness between her legs, and the breeze wasn’t so refreshing anymore.

“That sounds lovely and all,” she managed to say, voice strangled with the effort. He smirked and she cleared her throat briefly “but Senator Quintus has already paid for me.”

It still left a bitter taste in her mouth, to say that she had been paid for, but she also found that the bitterness lessened sometimes, when her patron was at least amicable.

“Then spend the day with me tomorrow.” 

“I already have an appointment.”

“The day after tomorrow.”

“I will be attending a play with Senator Seppius.”

“The day after that.”

She shook her head, trying not to smile at his growing distress, but wishing she could spend all those days with him instead.

“Next week?”

She brushed her lips against his, straightening out.

“I’m afraid my schedule is full.”

Antony looked as if he wanted to smash a skull against a wall, but instead he swallowed with apparent difficulty, putting on a smile that looked more like a grimace.

“I see. I will have to be patient then.” he said, his voice sounding tight.

Lysandra took a few steps away from him, bent on returning to her patron of the night, but stopped mid-step, closing her eyes and internally cursing herself for her foolishness.

It wasn’t prudent, but…

She spun on her heels and marched to Antony, who hadn’t moved an inch from his place and had been watching her go.

“I leave at midnight.” she whispered in his ear, heart racing and her lust growing by the second “I will hang sheets from my window for you to climb,... unless you’re too old for that.”

His stare changed, and she almost jumped him right there.

Antony nodded once, and she left him alone, their bodies already aching for the other.

* * *

 

Lena was going to kill her, that much was certain.

The princess paced around her room in a straight line, stopping in front of a wall and then heading for the other end of the place, casting doubtful glances to her open window.

She had managed some decent knots with the fabric, and had tied it securely around a leg of the small bed.

Antony would probably be there at any moment, if he was coming at all…

No.

She shook her head. Of course he was coming, and if she were smart she would pull up the sheets and forbid the entrance.

Alas, she was quite stupid, but Venus knew she wanted him.

Had it been Cassius, Lena wouldn’t have a problem with a few escapades here and there, but this was Marc Antony, and Lena disliked him a great deal.

There was nothing she could do when he formally asked for Lysandra’s company but to comply, but this was different.

She offered herself freely, as if she had nothing to lose.

To invite Antony into her bed in exchange for nothing was foolish; it was to expose herself to him, and Lysandra couldn’t think of something more frightening.

She stopped in front of a small round table in the corner and poured herself some wine, took the cup to her lips and set it back down, untouched.

“I could give you better silk, if you like.”

“Stop doing that!” she hissed, looking towards the door, searching for the growing shadows of a guard.

When it was certain that no one was coming, she set her eyes on the smirking bastard by the window, who pulled the sheets up and dropped them again on the floor, right next to the bed.

“My sheets are fine, thank you.”

“I’ll get you others anyway.”

“Why offer if you are to go against my wishes?”

He shrugged, stepping closer.

“I like my women to have only the best.”

“ _ Women? _ Then you shall go bankrupt.”

He laughed, and she shushed him, not wanting to awake anyone.

“I’ve never seen you jealous before.”

“I am not jealous; it was a mere comment.”

“Are you sure?”

She rolled her eyes, ignoring the annoying bug that had settled in the pit of her stomach.

“Are you here to fuck me or to annoy me?”

She blinked and he was already there, roughly grabbing her by the waist and pushing her backwards, the small of her back colliding with the edge of the table.

He smashed his lips against hers, his tongue invading her mouth, immediately seeking claim.

At first she held onto the edge of the table, her nails digging into the wood. It wasn’t exactly the first time she and Antony had sex, but she still wasn’t quite used to his aggressiveness.

That didn’t mean she didn't like it.

Antony’s more heated ways in the bedchamber were the only ones that awakened pleasure in her. Were it to be someone else, she would already be cowering in a dark corner in her mind, her movements those of a living dead.

She hated to admit it, even to herself, but she trusted him with her body. She fully trusted him.

His tongue won the battle quite easily, and with a soft moan, Lysandra pulled him closer by the hips, her arms then wrapping around his shoulders.

Antony grinded his hips into hers, letting her know how ready he already was, and she pushed herself up and sat atop the table, legs coming around him in a delicious trap.

His kisses descended onto her neck, igniting a fire as he went.

“You looked divine this evening.” he muttered with ragged breath, tongue tracing her collarbone and dripping down her cleavage, repeating the path his finger had done earlier. “You were wasted on Quintus’ arm.”

Antony’s hands found the pins that held the dress up on her shoulders and he took them off, the fabric dropping effortlessly down to her waist.

Lysandra didn’t answer, and instead gasped and placed her hand on the back of his neck, unable to think of something other than the way his mouth closed around one of her nipples, while a hand payed attention to the other, the free one caressing her leg with viciousness.

She bit her lip, barely remembering that everybody else in the scholae was sleeping and that Antony wasn’t supposed to be there.

That thought only made her throb.

Antony’s mouth abandoned her breast and kept on sliding down, softly biting her hip before going lower.

She heard herself mumbling something, but wasn't quite sure what it was.

Suddenly, Antony was kneeling in front of her, face so close to her center she could feel his hot breath against her sensitive skin. He looked up at her as she awaited in anticipation, only to emit a small sound of protest when he stood up, tossing his clothes aside and grabbing her by the neck, planting a firm, fierce kiss on her lips.

He spun her around and bent her over the table, casually kicking her legs apart and squeezing her hips with a bit too much strength before entering her.

They both moaned at the sensation, and Lysandra closed her eyes, having missed the way he stretched her.

Giving her no time to get used to him, Antony began to move, his pace more unforgiving than she remembered, but just as delicious.

Lysandra could taste the blood on her mouth from biting her lip so hard, and she gripped the end of the table in a desperate attempt at staying labeled.

Antony kissed the middle of her back, cursing under his breath as he thrusted into her over and over.

Lysandra began to match his movements, her own movements those of someone regaining control.

He must have noticed, for his hand snaked around her stomach and the intensity of his thrusts increased as he leaned over, his chest flat against her back.

His free hand took hers, lacing their fingers over the punished wood.

“Now, now,  I don’t think so, princess.” he mumbled in her ear, the grip around her firm, keeping her mostly still.

She hated losing almost as much as he did, but from time to time, defeat wasn’t so bad.

Lysandra turned her head lightly, searching for his lips and finding them almost immediately, her free hand pulling at his short hair.

The fire in the pit of her stomach started to grow, and more, and more, until it was nearly unbearable, and then it released her, spreading all over her.

Antony held her tightly against him, growling as he searched his own release, and finding it soon after.

Lysandra rested against the table as he spilled inside her, cursing some God or another, again. She could hear him behind her, his breath as shortcoming as hers, his touch as hot as she felt.

Her legs felt like jelly, and she didn’t want to move, too seated to do pretty much anything.

Antony took her hair into his fist and pulled her up, taking her by surprise. She turned and he grabbed her thighs, lifting her up as if she weighed no more than a feather and made his way to the bed, where he placed her carefully.

“You didn’t think we were done, did you?” he asked with an arrogant smirk, leaning down, his nose almost brushing hers as she did nothing but stare.

Right before she could come up with a witty response, he dropped his head between her legs and gave her slit a long, slow lick.

She grabbed onto the sheets and hoped to all the Gods that no one heard that.

* * *

 

Lysandra stared at the sky, wanting to be angry with Apollo for daring to make another day come.

Behind her, Antony snored softly, one of his arms draped over her waist, his legs tangled with hers.

In the past weeks they hadn’t seen each other, she had missed him terribly, and the realization had left her paralyzed.

Maybe she should allow Lena to kill her; she was turning stupid, just like Xanthe.

Giving the sky a resigned look, she turned around slowly, trying to not disturb him.

Her effort proved useless, for when she finally found herself face to face with Antony, he was already wide awake, dark eyes settled on her face.

“You should leave before it starts raining.”

“Good morning to you as well.”he buffed kissing her briefly, almost softly.

Lysandra couldn’t find the will to refuse him and went with her instincts, corresponding him, her leg moving up over his, wrapping around his hips.

Antony’s arm went around her naked back and pressed their bodies together, both sighing lightly at the contact.

A bark interrupted them, and Lysandra broke the kiss, closing her eyes.

“Really, it seems like it will rain.”

“Then perhaps I can take shelter here until it passes. What if the rain starts before I make it home? What if lightning strikes me down? It would be your fault.”

Lysandra snorted, opening her eyes once again to find Antony’s amused ones staring down at her. Her fingertips caressed his temple, where some early wrinkles showed when he smiled. War had wore them both down, but she could see it clearly in him.

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“Just some people to bribe and intimidate into Caesar’s side.” he waved it off with a small grimace “What about you?”

“I must entertain someone. You already knew.”

“Don’t go.”

She almost laughed.

“I’m not as privileged as you think I am.”

A little “uh” was all the answer she got.

“And how exactly will you entertain this patron?”

“In whatever way it pleases him.”

There was a small pause, the only sound that of the birds and the people in the city waking up.

“Do you get tired?”

That wasn’t the kind of question she would expect from anyone, least of all Antony.

She thought about it. Tired of what? Spending her days smiling and kissing the feet of arrogant, selfish men, who only cared about the growth of their pocket and not of the hungry citizens? Tired of the way Romans spoke of Gaul and its people, only to be called and praised by them not but five minutes later? Of sleeping with them? Of pretending that she was enjoying herself when in fact, most times she was just reciting a philosopher or another while she was at it.

There were few patrons who could get her to truly enjoy herself, and only two that didn’t leave her feeling like a used piece of fabric afterwards. One of them was in her arms at the moment, the other was off somewhere in the city, plotting against the first man.

She wasn’t exactly tired; she felt rather frustrated most of the time. Lena had once said that she would teach Lysandra to sway a man’s mind with words alone, but so far the skill had only gotten her pretty gifts, most of which she never made use of.

Pleasing others was her everyday, and she was mostly numb to it all.

“Some days I want to slice a throat or two open.”

His chuckled was deep, and she felt it against her chest.

“Just one or two?”

She punched him lightly on the arm.

“Just piss off already; before Lena finds you.”

Antony kissed her forehead and stood up, having no reservation to his current state of nudity.

“So,”he said as he picked up his clothes and carelessly put them on. “you’ll be busy for some time?”

“I will.”

“When can I see you then?”

Lysandra bit her lip, feeling the place where she had hurt herself just a few hours prior. Artemis entered the room and went straight for Antony, standing on her back legs and placing her paws on his chest, demanding attention. 

He scratched her ears absentmindedly, gazed still fixated on the princess.

It was one of her most stupid ideas, and she vividly remembered the murder of Rufus Glycia.

“I’ll leave the window open.”

 


	4. The Words That Went Unsaid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t think you guys need to know where we are in the timeline, but around 40-38 BC.

 

******The Words That Went Unsaid**

  
  
  


Antony’s breathing was slow and steady as he listened to the gentle rain falling from the Athenian sky. One of his hands drew small circles on the waist of his mistress, the other was buried deep in her hair as she slept.

He stared up at the painted ceiling, enjoying the peace and quiet of the place. The slaves were still asleep, and even his daughter, Antonia, seemed to have found rest.

She was a bit peculiar that way. Now Antony, he could sleep at any moment of day, years at war camps waiting for attacks having made it so he could adapt at any type of environment. His Lysandra could only sleep at night, finding the sunlight most inconvenient. But their daughter seemed an owl. No matter how much the mother tried, the child would refuse to sleep at night; she would instead walk around the villa, nose buried in a scroll, or just staring at everything with a contemplative frown on her delicate face. She paid the price though, since she was always tired during the day.

Lysandra had complained about it non-stop, and there was no method that seemed to work. Antony left her be, for the most part. The child was theirs after all, and thereof was as stubborn as a bull.

He tried to think about his other children, of which he had plenty, both legitimate and  some forgotten bastards laying around Italia and a few other nations. None of them really sparked any sort of affection in him, not even the twins. Not that he  _ knew  _ the twins -having left their mother before their birth- but he once thought that the idea of fathering a member of royalty would be more than enough to make him care.

He had been wrong. Maybe it was because he had never been present during the lives of his other children, whereas practically living with Lysandra and taking her with him across lands and seas had made it impossible for him to miss out on much pf Antonia’s growth.

Maybe it was simply because she was so much like her mother. At an early age, it was plain to see that she would grow to be as beautiful; she was also quite cunning when she wanted to be, and ambitious. She wanted to be a senator.

Antony snorted at the memory of a four year old saying she would join the Roman Senate or else…

Lysandra had once said that Antonia seemed to have inherited the worst of them, but Antony didn’t see it that way. If anything, she would be a survivor.

He listened carefully, but the child’s footsteps couldn’t be heard. Maybe it was later than the sky let on, but she was probably asleep.

He looked to his right, where a jar of wine awaited in a small table and stretched his arm but failed to reach it.

He slumped back in the bed, sighing softly. What to do? He wanted the wine, but he didn’t want to wake Lysandra. Juno knew she needed her rest.

They had a son now. A small baby of less than a year, at his insistence. He had wanted a son by her for a long time, but she always refused. He suspected that the only reason why she finally agreed was due to Cleopatra.

Antony had tried his best not to laugh at her jealousy. She had hid it well but he knew her, and even though he confessed that his reasons for seducing Caesar’s former lover were merely power-related, she hadn’t believed him.

She even threw a vase at him! The memory still made him smile and snort and mock, which only served to gain a poisonous look and an invitation for a repeat.

He did have to admit though, Cleopatra was intriguing. She wasn’t a beauty -by far-, but he supposed it could be worse; but she was a charmer and had a quick wit and an ever quicker tongue, much like his Lysandra.

The few things he loved about the woman were all reminders of the sleeping princess in his arms, and faint ones at that.

When Cleopatra had become with child, Lysandra set herself to the task of subtly avoiding his company, claiming she had some thing or another to do, that Antonia needed to be helped with something, or that she was simply too tired.

He didn’t believe her. She had complained, more than once, about how she never had much to do but wait around for him all day.

He felt bad, and a small part of him considered an apology was due, but disregarded the idea. If he apologized, he might as well open up his chest and offer her his heart, and he wasn’t about to give her that sort of power.

Instead, he asked her for a son, again, and this time she agreed. The Gods showed their favour and granted him a healthy boy, and it was settled. He never spoke of Cleopatra in front of her again, and she stopped making up petty excuses to not see him.

“You’re humming.”

He looked down to find that Lysandra had awakened. She rubbed her eyes and lifted her head from his chest, looking up through heavy eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”he tried to push her head back down “Go back to sleep.”

She pushed herself away from his grip and sat on the bed, looking down at him in curiosity. He couldn’t help but admire her naked form. She seemed the same as always, with the exceptions of the visible marks the birthing of two children had left on her; but at the same time, he found her more beautiful than the day before.

“I used to sing that to Antonia to make her sleep. I’ve completely forgotten it.”

Honestly, he hadn’t realized he had been humming, even less so to a lullaby.

The sadden expression on her face caught his attention. He didn’t ask, only took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles.

She smiled, softly and briefly.

The cry of a child interrupted the silence, and Lysandra jumped off the bed, quickly pulling on the simple dress from the day before.

She was gone in an instant, before he could even fully process what was happening.

Antony groaned, deciding that there was no point in delaying his duties. The sooner he left their home, the sooner he’d be back, walking into the atrium to find Lysandra waiting for him, a smile and a clever comment at the ready.

He got dressed carelessly, walking out of their bedchamber in time to find a slave rushing to Lysandra, who was outside the boy’s chamber, with him in her arms.

The slave said something to her, but she dismissed her with a gentle pat on the cheek, walking back towards him.

“Why was he crying?”

She shrugged, going straight for their bed and placing the infant atop of it.

“Perhaps he missed me. Perhaps he heard your hideous singing.”

He snorted, following suit, taking a luxurious moment to admire the boy, now sleeping again in the middle of the bed, arms thrown back, mouth agape. He looked more gallic than his sister.

He wasn’t that fond of this one as he was of Antonia, mainly because he couldn’t hold a conversation, and most of what he did was cry, shit, eat and take his mistress attention from him; but the reminder that this child,  _ this son,  _ was from Lysandra made him proud of the little creature.

With the boy asleep again, the mother got up and walked towards a small window, looking up to the sky.

“I don’t like rain.”

“I know.” he replied, helping himself to that cup of wine he had so desperately craved just a few minutes earlier “And I know that because you insist on reminding me every time the clouds turn grey.”

The look she gave him was far from amused.

He stopped behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist. Lysandra leaned back, stealing the cup from him and taking a big sip. She made a disgusted noise, and chuckling, he wrapped his other arm around her.

“I don’t understand how you can like this shit.”

“I don’t understand how you can like grape juice.”

“It’s not juice! It’s just,...more subtle than this.” she said, raising the cup in emphasis before taking another big sip.

Yes, he was aware of her tastes. Ever since he began to ask for her services, he made sure there was some wine brought especially for her. It took him a few tries, but he found one in Lucques, and she had been drinking it ever since.

“If you hate it so much, why keep drinking?” was his question as she drowned the whole thing.

“So that you won’t be drunk before you even leave for the day.”

“Blasphemy! When have I been drunk so early in the day?”

“I could name each occasion but the day only has so many hours.”

He bit her shoulder and she giggled, turning around with a challenging smirk.

Antony leaned down and kissed her, his fingers tangling in her hair, his tongue invading her mouth.

He pulled back.

“That wine is disgusting.” 

He made a face and she laughed, throwing her head back.

“Finally you speak some sense, old man.”

“I am not old.”

“Sure.”

Lysandra escaped the prison of his embrace, walking instead to where his sandals laid forgotten.

“Come on, move. You don’t want to be late.”

He rolled his eyes. Leaving was the last thing he wanted to do; he would much prefer to take her back to bed, be rid of their clothes and bury himse…

“Are you alright?”

Lysandra had stopped midstep. She coughed.

“Yes, it’s just…”she coughed “I need water, that’s all.”

He went to the jar with water, his intention that of serving her a cup, but then Lysandra fell to the floor, coughing into the stone, her body shaking.

Antony rushed to her, quickly turning her around and gasping in pure terror.

“I-I can’t,...I can’t…”she kept on trying to say, blood coming out of her mouth.

“Shhh, shhh.” he fixed his hold, holding her up with one arm, his other hand trying to clean up the blood as he tried to sit her up.

It was no use, she was moving too much.

“HELP!” he resorted to, not caring about the infant he had just woken with his scream “HELP!”

The doors opened, and in walked a few guards and two half-asleep slaves, looking for danger.

Still in his arms, Lysandra shook violently, trying to say something, spitting blood instead of words, nails scratching her throat.

One of the slaves ran off in search of a medic, the other stayed in place for a moment, not knowing what to do.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING STANDING THERE LIKE FUCKING IDIOTS? HELP HER! DO SOMETHING!”

Soon, Antony felt as if his own throat was closing in. He looked down again at her, a frown on her face, tears in her eyes, face covered in blood, gasping for air.

“It’s alright, it’s alright. Shhh, don’t speak.” he kept on saying, nervously caressing her cheek, moving the hair from her face “Don’t speak. It’s nothing, you’ll be fine.”

“I,...I lo…”

Something fell on her face, and Antony barely recognized it to be his own tears.

“You will be fine.”

“I…”

More blood came out of her mouth, she shook gently,...

...then nothing.

Her body went stiff in his arms, head falling back, eyes staring into the ceiling as the pupils dilated, her mouth open.

Her hand went slack on his tunica, and only then did he notice she had been holding onto it.

He stared at her hand, then her face.

He shook her.

“Ly...Lysandra…”he shook her a bit more “Lysandra, my love, don’t be cruel.”

He shook her more, but she remained still. He grabbed her face roughly and stared into her eyes. They stared back, but he didn’t see anything in them.

Antony pressed his ear to her chest, but it was eerily silent. No rise and fall, no heartbeat.

“No, no…”

“Father?”

Antony looked up to find his daughter at the entrance, looking pale and scared, hair a tangled mess, her dress full of wrinkles. 

Antonia looked at her mother and took an unsteady step in their direction.

“What is it? Is mother going to be alright?”

“GET OUT!” was his response, waving a hand at her “GET OUT! GET OUT!”

One of the guards took her by the arm, and the child let herself be guided out.

He looked around, to the slave holding the crying boy, to the other guards, all of them avoiding his gaze.

“ALL OF YOU! BEFORE I HAVE RIP YOUR HEADS OFF!”

They did as they were told, leaving in a chaotic melody of feet dragging over the floor and a door closing heavily.

He looked down at her again, but nothing had changed.

Suddenly he couldn’t see her anymore, his vision completely blurred. He pressed his forehead against hers, an animalistic, pathetic sound leaving his lips.

Then another one, a bit louder.

And another, much louder.

Another, much, much louder.

He held her tight against him, so much, that he almost expected her to tell him to loosen up.

He realized that she wasn’t going to speak again, and the crying got louder.

His hold tightened, but she didn’t respond.

Antony didn’t let go of her, and he didn’t move. He swayed slowly, back and forth, the melody she always hummed abandoning his lips in unsteady breaths. He could still hear her, could still see her as she walked around her villa back in Rome, little Antonia sleeping in her arms.

He caught sight of the bed, where they had been resting peacefully after another night of trying to satiate their desires.

Why? Why him? Why her? Did the Gods hate him so? Had he said something to upset them?

He used to joke that Venus would kill Lysandra in a fit of jealousy, and she would respond saying that he should beware of Baco, before he outdrank him.

A sob made its way through his chest.

He tried to hold her tighter, but realized he didn’t have any strength left.

Lysandra had once said that crying was good, that with each tear and sob, breathing got easier and the world a bit cleaner; but Antony knew she had been talking horse shit.

He cried, and sobbed, and cried some more, and screamed and moaned, but the world only got darker, his lungs still refused to send air, and his throat hurt.

He kissed her cold shoulder, wanting to talk, but the knot in his throat refraining him from doing so.

Time passed, he assumed. 

The rain stopped, a slave came back with a medic, but he told them to _ ‘fuck off’ _ , or so he thought.

He didn’t hear the door opening, but heard the steps too late. Next thing he knew, his wife Octavia was kneeling in front of him, a worried expression on her face.

“Antony?”

He looked away, the tears stopping for a few moments.

“Leave me.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Octavia looking over Lysandra’s face, still covered in blood.

“Antonia came to me crying, Antony. She’s scared and she wants you.”

“She can go to a slave.” he muttered with disinterest.

His wife hesitated.

“S-she needs to be prepared.”

“What?”

“I mean that she needs a proper funeral.”

He straightened up, hand raised, ready to strike her. Octavia shrinked back, her submissive eyes on the floor and he stopped mid-air, his arm slumping back down.

A funeral. Yes, he supposed she would need one.

...What sort of funeral? A roman funeral? Would she have wanted that? How did the people of her tribe deal with death? Did Lysandra ever cared about that?

He felt cold when he realized he didn’t know. He didn’t know the traditions of her people, and he didn’t know if she would have liked those to be honored.

He knew everything about  _ her, _ but little to nothing of what made her her.

He sat back on his knees, and the world might as well frozen when Octavia gently pulled Lysandra out of his arms.

“I never,...” he found himself saying, his gaze lost in the past, seeing something only he could see. “I never told her that I loved her.”

He said it so quietly, as if it was a terrible secret, that Octavia barely hear him. Her arms shifted around the mistress of her husband, looking for a way to comfort him, even though he didn’t deserve it.

“I’m sure she knew.” was her genteel answer.

He nodded, clearly lost in his world.

“I should’ve told her. At least once.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I mean, just ‘cause she’s death doesn’t mean is the end. There’s still a lot of things that happened before this, but this was one of the first things I thought about when I started this mini-series, it was: how does this end?”
> 
> I almost made Lysandra outlive Antony. He would leave her for Cleopatra and she and Antonia would sail off to someplace in the middle of nowhere, or maybe go back to Rome and run the scholae after Lena got too old.
> 
> This option is the one that seemed right, and the one that hurt the most so,...yeah...sorry? hehehe
> 
> PS: Just so it hurts a bit more, notice how he calls her “my love”? Yeah,...well, that’s the only time he calls her that.
> 
> Ok, byeeeeeeeeeeeeee!


	5. The Death Of A Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place before the other one-shots, but right where chapter 14 starts.  
> This is what I imagined would happen.  
> Mentions of violence against animals, graphic physical violence, sexual violence and some sweet murder.

**The Death Of A Monster**

  
  


Lysandra clenched her teeth in an attempt to keep her cries quiet, hellbent on no showing pain. Aquila yanked her hair harder, and the courtesan clenched harder, to the point where she thought her denture would fracture.

The streets were mostly quiet, but in the distance, one could hear the night owls still feasting, and she wondered how many more were in a similar position to hers, and how many times had she been oblivious while no more than a few meters away someone else faced what she did now.

Once again, she tried to regain balance, but the Legate wasn’t having it, and kept a firm grip as he half dragged her by his side. 

Lysandra tried to look back in search of Artemis, but to no avail. For all she knew, the hound was dead. The soldiers had hit the poor creature with the wood of their spears, and the courtesan was almost certain they had succeeded in breaking a bone. She hoped Artemis was alright, and silently prayed to Nemesis that the soldiers met a brutal ending.

She tripped and almost fell, her leg scraping against the cobblestone. She hissed, and then bit her tongue when the hand holding her hair janked harder.

If she survived, she would be bald, but that was the least of her problems.

If she survived, she would need to learn how to be more stealthy. She had been more than willing to walk with Aquila until she noticed how heavily guarded he was, but it had been too late; the man had surrendered to temptation and she was outnumbered.

She did the stupid move and tried to walk away, but then Aquila got too close and saw the mark of her tribe.

“Fucking savage.”he muttered as he lead her to the entrance of his villa.

“You’re just,... mortified, that a barbarian holds more power than you.”she managed to say.

He pulled her to her feet and pushed her against the heavy doors of his home. She hit her back and closed her eyes, ignoring the sudden pain as best as she could. A hand wrapped around her throat, and she kneeled him in the crotch.

Lysandra tried to put some distance between them, no longer thinking the way a courtesan did, but the way of a scared woman. A soldier punched her in the stomach, robbing her of air.

“After I’m done with you,” said the Legate, taking her by the waist and pushing his way into the villa “I’ll let my men have whatever is left.”

Lysandra suddenly felt herself go numb as his threat brought back one of her worst nightmares.

She could smell burnt wood, the sweat of the romans, and she could feel the burning between her legs as they took turns, her whole body hurting from either their hands or the hard ground.

The heavy breathing of her attackers was what she remembered the most. Hot against her cheek or the back of her neck as her childhood ended abruptly, all innocence forever taken and stomped upon.

“Out.” she heard Aquilla ordering the only guard in the villa.

She was pushed again into a small, dimly lit room and used her hands to cushion the impact against the table.

Lysandra heard a crash and saw a amphorae lying broken on the floor, spilled wine tinting everything red.

_ “Is that my blood?” _ she wondered for a second, half of her in the past, the other somewhat in the present.

“I remember you,” grunted Aquila as he entered the shop, looking her up and down. “I remember you screaming like a bitch in heat while my men fucked you. I’m surprised Lena managed to do anything with you.”

“She won’t be happy to know what you did to me.”she tried to scare him, still feeling shaken “Neither will Antony.”

Aquila snorted, approaching her slowly. Lysandra eyed the broken pottery on the floor, trying to figure out a way to reach it.

“Antony won’t care once he knows what a whore you are, and Lena will kick you out on the streets.”

Lena wouldn’t do such thing. She knew. It had taken one look at a scared thirteen year old for the woman to know.

_ “Don’t worry, my little princess.”she had told her a few days after her arrival at the scholae as she combed through Lysandra’s curls. She wasn’t well enough to see others, and only Lena ever came into her room. The big man, Syphax, sometimes spoke kindly to her, but only from the frame of her door. Her own answers, when she gave them, were curt and sardonic “I will teach you to let go of your fear; and one day, you will find the beauty in it.” _

But the only thing Lena achieved was to teach her how to pretend. Of course, Lysandra didn’t say this to her. Lena brought her men for her to practice, and she pushed through it until everyone was convinced that she was enjoying herself as much as her partner of the month.

Cassius’s kind touch had been the first to ignite something, and he had been the one to truly show her the beauty of the flesh.

The princess glared at Aquila. Tartarus swallow her whole if she let him destroy what Cassius had helped to create.

“I don’t care what you say, or what you do.” she told him, her voice a defiant whisper that travelled with the strength of a slap. “I will not submit to you.”

He smirked, and she decided he had too many teeth inside his stupid mouth.

She lunged for the floor and took a piece of the ceramic, rising like lighting and swinging widely. She heard Aquila groan, and straightened up to see him holding the side of his face.

The princess smiled.

“Filthy whore!”he jumped in her direction, but Lysandra moved out of the way, her intention that of escaping the place.

She hoped the guards weren’t outside.

She made it out the door, but the man wasn’t about to give up. He took her shoulders and pushed forward, sending both of their bodies against the opposite wall.

Lysandra took the hit, her entire front and head colliding with the hard stone, disorienting her.

It hurt. Her head hurt, and so did her chest.

_ Focus, focus, focus. Breathe, breathe. _

The rise and fall of her chest felt stiff, but she pushed through it, her heart in her ears.

_ Breathe, breathe. _

She was able to forget the pain of her chest, but the one in the head persisted; she could taste blood in her mouth, feel it falling down the left side of her face, and soaking her hair.

Something cold was at her back, and something hot in front.

No. Something hot was atop of her.

Pushing through, the princess forced herself to open her eyes, being greeted by Aquila’s face incredibly close to hers.

For one terrible moment, her brain stopped working.

Then it started again.

_ Survive. _

She wanted to get up, wanted to push him off her and run, or scream, or call for help even, but she couldn’t open her mouth. Her body didn’t answer anymore.

_ Survive. _

She felt how her hands were pinned above her head, and a tongue that caused nausea licking its way down her neck.

Lysandra’s body was tense, ready to jump, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so.

_ Survive. _

For a moment, she considered begging

_ Survie. _

She felt her dress being pulled up, her legs kicked apart, and an all too familiar sensation when he entered, as if she were being cut with a blazing knife..

She yelped.

“No!”

Lysandra recovered control over her body and tried to move, to push him off her, but he was almost twice her size. 

His weight was crushing her, his hot, foul breath touched her cheek, and the sound of his hips slamming into hers was all too overbearing.

_ Survive. _

She clenched her teeth again, pushing more eagerly, clinging to what decency she had left.

“You like that, don’t you? Fucking whore.”he muttered in her ear.

_ Not at the expense of my pride. _

She bit the junction of his shoulder and neck with all her might. Aquila cried in pain, one of his hands letting go of hers to grab her face.

Lysandra pushed with her hand.

“You’ll regret that, you disgusting…”

Something crashed against the Legate’s head and Lysandra yelped, closing her eyes and looking away.

The weight was lifted from her, and she felt like fighting an entire legion on her own.

Ignoring her aching body, she sat on her knees. Aquila laid on the floor, looking as disoriented as she had felt just minutes prior, shattered pottery around him and in his hair.

Lysandra’s vision changed, and then everything was coloured red. She crawled to him with surprising speed and sat her body atop of his, knees tight around his hips as she placed her hands on either side of his face, lifted, and then slammed him down against the floor.

She growled, a possessed animal, and lifted him up again, slamming his head against the stone over and over.

The sickening sound of skin and bone breaking and blood pouring out filled the room, drowning every other sound for the princess as she hit again and again, her clenched fists becoming red with splattered blood.

She kept going, hardly aware of the second presence in the room, the Legate’s head losing shape.

She slammed him once more, and then again before stopping, her breath heavy, her hands cramped as she admired her work.

She dropped to the floor next to him, carelessly making aside a piece of what looked like brain and placing her head between her knees.

She heard soft footsteps approaching slowly, hesitant.

“It’s fine, Sabina. I won’t hurt you.” she said, her voice muffled.

There was a moment of silence.

“No, I know that.”was her soft answer “But, he-he’s dead, isn’t he?”

Lysandra gave him a fleeting look, thinking of how rotten she was on the inside to enjoy such a sight.

“Yes, not even cockroaches survive this.”she looked up to her friend and the smile dropped “Don’t worry, no one will know.”

Sabina opened her mouth as if to protest, her eyes frightened, but then they stared at each other. Truly stared.

There was no need for words. They were together in this, and they didn’t plan on going to dying like Aquila.

Sabina nodded once and offered a hand, which Lysandra took, rising to her feet.

“How are we,...?”

“Don’t worry.” she tried to reassure her, smiling softly and hoping she didn’t look too much like a madwoman “Are there guards inside?”

Sabina shook her head, giving her dead husband a quick glance, her face contorting, as if trying to decide between a grimace or a smile.

“Go check outside. Don’t be seen.”

Lysandra waited until her friend was out of sight before turning to the Legate and tilting her head, pondering.

They had few options, really, but they all ended the same.

They could roll him up inside a tapestry and take him to the sewer.

They could break his bones and put him inside an amphore, then dump in in the sewer.

They could just drag him to the sewer.

Lysandra looked through a small window and sighed. She needed to be rid of him and back in the scholae before the sun rose.

There was also a mess to clean.

Sabina came back with a slave boy, and Lysandra sighed again, this time more heavily.

“Now I have to kill him as well.” she said pointing at the boy, who gulped and hid behind his domina.

“No, Lucio is the only one I trust.”said Sabina, kneeling by her husband “He will help us. What should we do?”

“How can we trust him?”

“I have as many reasons to hate him as you, domina.”the boy spoke, not daring to make eye contact.

Lysandra studied his submissive pose, form the way he fidgeted with his hands in front of him to how he dropped his head, as if he wanted to bury it in the ground.

The boy gave the Legate a look, and the princess caught a glimpse in his eyes.

“I see.” was all she said as she recognized the look. “Are there guards outside?”

“Two.”answered Sabina.

Lysandra nodded, turning again to the boy.

“Do they know your face?”

“No, domina.”

“Go through the back and lead them away. Come back and clean this.”

Lucio looked at Sabina, who nodded, and then he was out the door taking a right, deep inside the villa.

Lysandra turned and went to Aquila, taking one of his arms. Sabina did the same with the other, and together, they straightened him up, placing his arms across their shoulders.

Sabina tried to take a step.

“Wait.”

And so they did, listening closely. Suddenly, the night seemed too quiet, as if the rest of Rome had died along with Aquila.

What if they failed? What if someone caught them? It wasn’t just her own neck, but Sabina’s. Lysandra had very few people who she truly cared about in Rome, and one of them was already being punished for her crime.

She couldn’t,...she wouldn’t let that happen again, even less so to someone as good as Sabina.

“I’m sorry.”

The woman looked at her, smiling softly.

“Please, Lysandra, don’t. You’ve freed me.”

She said it with such candor, the courtesan felt just like the titan Atlas, who held the world upon his shoulders.

“We still haven’t finished.”

Sabina grew serious again and looked forward.

Another minute went by, and the slave boy came back.

“Hurry! Before they return!”

Both women followed after him, quickly dragging the Legate. Lysandra took a look over her shoulder and groaned.

“Fantastic! We’re losing him.”

To her surprise, Sabina giggled.

“There’s no much to loose. Lucio will clean it.”

In front of them, the boy stopped at the door and looked both ways before stepping aside, allowing them out.

The streets were dark and quiet, and every footstep felt like the one of a giant. Lysandra winced with each one, looking around in search of soldiers and citizens alike who could ruin her plans.

They walked for what felt like hours, but in reality was barely a few minutes until she stopped.

“Here.”

Gently, she passed the weight of the Legate to Sabina, who held him up with trembling arms as Lysandra pulled up on the heavy lid of the sewer.

She moved it aside and stepped back out of breath, steeling herself for the final move.

They aligned him carefully and pushed, his body barely fitting through the round space.

Lysandra kicked him and he went down. Both women waited with baited breath, exhaling in relief when they heard the splash.

The princess placed the lid back into place and stood in silence, staring at the rock. She felt something touching her hand and jumped, only to realize it was only Sabina. Her friend took her hand, dark eyes staring down.

Lysandra looked at their bloodied hands and gave a gentle squeeze.

* * *

 

The women walked back to the villa in silence. They took the same path, checking for anything that could trace the incident back to them.

Sabina washed her hands in a fountain, but the courtesan couldn’t yet bring herself to do so, and instead waited patiently, admiring the red on her skin.

She hoped her father was happy at the news.

They stopped near the villa. Lysandra told Sabina to go through the slave’s entrance, to stick to the shadows and burn her dress. In return she was hugged, a small gratitude whispered in her ear.

Lysandra watched her go, noticing the way in which her friend seemed to already be walking with a lighter step, her spine straight and shoulders back. She had to admit, her friend looked quite regal, blood and all.

The princess also stuck to the shadows on her way back, going as far as to take a detour just in case. She looked over her shoulder every few minutes, and now that she was alone, it took all her control to not succumb to the memories, to not jump at every sound. She didn’t have a problem with the blood on her hands, but she wanted to take a bath and scrub herself until her skin was red. She didn’t want to feel a man’s touch on her again, but at the same time, she wanted Cassius to wrap his arms around her and hold her, and kiss her shame away.

She arrived at the scholae just as the sky begun to turn purple, a sign that indicated Apollo would ride past soon.

As she entered the place, she heard voices, but in her state couldn’t make out what they were saying. She headed towards the stairs, yearning for her bed.

“Where were you?” Antony’s cold voice cut through the entrance of the scholae.

Lysandra tried to think of an answer, but all was forgotten when she heard a whimper. 

She spun on her heels in time to see Artemis at Antony’s side trying to limp towards her. She couldn’t place one of her paws on the floor, and her sides were wounded, but at simple sight, it seemed the hound would be just fine.

The relief took over Lysandra, and she allowed a small smile to spread through her mistreated face.

“Jupiter almighty, woman! What has happened to you?”

Antony’s tone changed from cold to enraged, and Lysandra stopped mid-step, not wanting to approach him.

For the first time, she was scared of him.

Lena appeared behind the man, looking as tired as the princess felt.

“What…”

Lysandra took a step back, wanting to be in the safety of her room.

“It is nothing. I tripped.”

Lena opened her mouth like a fish, and Antony raised an eyebrow, his eyes burning, but his expression cool.

“There’s an eye hanging in your hair.”he said with nonchalance, walking towards her. He reached for her and Lysandra moved back, frowning at her action. She didn’t want to reject him, not really. He placed a gentle finger under her chin and lift her face up, staring at the damage quietly. “You look frightening.”

She smiled, and allowed him to guide her to her room.

* * *

 

He cleaned up her hands and face, being careful of the bruises. Then, he washed her hair, his fingers slowly searching for the wound.

“It’s not as bad as it seems.”was what he said, while Lysandra slightly swayed in the chair, the events of the night finally taking its toll on her.

Artemis placed her head on her lap and whimpered.

“I was scared for you.”said Lysandra, caressing her long face. She turned her attention to the man cleaning her hair “Why are you here?”

“You were in my coin, but not by my side. I came looking for you.”was his answer as he dried her hair and helped her stand, guiding her to the bed.

“I apologize. I got distracted.” was what she said as she moved the sheets back.

“Yes. I can tell.”

Lysandra stood there for a moment, wanting to be rid of her bloodied dress but not daring to ask Antony to leave. Truth was, as scary as he was, she was safer with him near, and his forced gentle ways had managed to put her at ease.

She had fought back a smile when she noticed his discomfited expression as he slowly cleaned her face. It was obvious he wasn’t used to treating anybody with such delicacy.

Her heart skipped a beat and she looked away.

“I don’t want to sleep.”

“I don’t care what you want. You’re exhausted, you’re going to sleep.”

Behind the curtain of her hair, she smiled.

“I can’t sleep when the sun is up. There’s too much light.”

Antony looked to her windows, annoyed.

“Then I’ll tell a slave to close them.”

“I will still know it’s light outside.”

“Jupiter’s cock, woman! Just lie down and close your damn eyes; Somnus will come.”

She sat down and took off her sandals. Sleep wouldn’t come, but she didn’t want to exasperate him too much.

She pulled the sheets up and covered her body up to her neck, wiggling out of her dress with ease and kicking it out of the bed. Antony watched the fabric as it fell to the floor, his gaze then gracing her figure. He swallowed.

Under different circumstances, Lysandra would have been happy with finally showing what was underneath.

“I can’t sleep during the day.” she said again, and he grunted, taking a seat at the edge of the bed.

Artemis crawled under, but the princess could still see her tired eyes looking up at her.

“Then let’s talk. Who did this to you?”he asked, pointing at her face.

“Don’t ask what you don’t want to know.”

He tilted his head.

“But I do want to know.” was his low response, tone promising pain to her attacker.

“Do you wish to see me executed?”

He stayed silent and looked around her room, from the rolled parchments all over the place, to the small corner where she sat to write her poems. Her dresses were tucked away in a chest, her father’s knife under her pillow.

“It’s not what I expected.” he said slowly, looking back to her.

Lysandra yawned.

“What were you expecting?”

“I’m not sure, but not something so,...impersonal.”

“One doesn’t have time to pack when their home is burnt down.”

He snorted.

“I suppose that’s true.”

He looked down at their hands, which were resting mere centimeters from each other’s. Lysandra took his fingers in hers, her eyelids becoming heavy.

“I’m going to spend the day away from the city next wednesday. I want you to come with me.”

Her thumb drew circles on the back of his hand as she closed her eyes for a moment.

“That would be nice.”

He said something else, but she was already asleep, her hand still clenching his.

  
  
  



	6. The Soldier's Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot takes place a few years after “The Words That Went Unsaid”.

******The Soldier’s Heart**

  
  


Were they to meet again, would she recognize him? He often wondered that, looking himself in the mirror.

Not a lot had changed in the past few years, yet everything had. If someone who didn’t know him set eyes on him, they’d only see a horny, hot-headed roman who needed a lesson in mannerisms. If one were to take a quick glance at him, they’d be certain to notice his aging, but then again, that happened to everyone. If someone who had known him from at least one day before that fateful morning, or even one minute before it, were to set eyes on him, they’d see a man only alive on the outside.

His shoulders tended to slump whenever someone turned their back on him, the gleam in his eyes was practically non-existent, and the way he moved was automatic. 

He only lived because he woke up everyday, unlike  _ her _ . He was only pretending though, since his heart had stopped beating long ago.

Antony swallowed hard, looking himself in the mirror, at his eyes covered in khol. More than once,  _ she  _ had teased him about it, saying how he should allow her to paint him, but he always refused. 

Ignoring the ache of his body, desperately calling out for  _ her  _ for the past years, he reached out and took a cup of wine, drowning it in one big gulp, not caring about the droplets that fell out of the corners of his lips and onto his chest.

The wine was from Lucques, too soft for his taste, but it was the wine  _ she  _ liked and after what happened he never ordered his usual again.

_ As if it mattered. _

He closed his eyes, and because he was a bit of a masochist, tried to remember the feeling of her dainty arms closing in around him, her head resting against his back, her warmth against his.

He took the jar and drank straight from it. Gods knew he’d need a lot of the stuff if he wanted to numb the pain a little.

He turned around, his eyes falling on the sleeping figure on his bed. 

He woke her up roughly, and he fucked her with a need he knew wouldn’t be satisfied by anyone.

Cleopatra’s moans and cries filled the room and he closed his eyes, tuning them out, trying to remember what  _ she  _ sounded like, what she felt like.

He almost muttered  _ her  _ name under his breath, but bit his tongue at the last minute. No. He hadn’t said it in years; he wouldn’t say it now.

He finished quickly, and with the same speed he got up, searching for his clothes, wanting to start the day so he could be done with it again.

“Do you feel better now?”

He turned away from the voice and exited the room, ignoring the picture only he could see.

* * *

 

He read his wife’s last letter so many times he stopped counting. Well,...his ex-wife.

Antony hadn’t heard from Octavia in some time, and that last letter is all he had from his children.

Antonia,  _ her  _ Antonia, for all his daughters were named the same, stopped writing little after his divorce, and her last letter was a furious one, accusing him of insulting her mother’s and Octavia’s name. She accused him of not caring about her or her brother, of always mistreating their mother.

She accused him of her death, and that hurt the most.

It was true, though. He had caused this, all this ridiculous charade.

If  _ she  _ hadn’t died, they’d probably still be in Athens, he’d still be married to Octavia, and there wouldn’t be a war.

If he had died instead of her,...that’s it. That should’ve happened. She should be alive and well and happy; and he dead, his body nothing more than some ashes.

But then again, he started a war for  _ her _ .

He knew people would scratch him as stupid and lose their faith in him if he told them the real cause of the war against Octav... _ Caesar _ .

He told everyone it was all politics. Octavian had mocked him, and the prick wouldn’t meet him face to face like a man.

In truth, he wanted to kill Octavian for robbing him of his most precious treasure.

He decided he’d visit the dungeons again before lunch, to see how Octavian’s puppet was doing.

His blood recoiled with the memory of that day. Octavian sent him a poor excuse of a legion, his then wife Octavia (Who seemed both uncomfortable and offended) and  _ her  _ children.

He sent Octavia back to Rome, but the woman refused to leave without the kids. He’d never understood how she could care so much for two of his bastards, and suspected that  _ she  _ had impacted more people than he’d originally thought.

Octavia had come along with a messenger, one he did meet in person, one that still resided in Egypt...his new toy.

The man started reading a letter from Octavian, who still made himself be called Caesar. In it he explained his reasons for sending Octavia and the children to Egypt, but then he solved a mystery Antony had been working on for years.

_ “...I should also like to apologize for my man’s failure.”read the messenger as Antony paced back and forth like a caged lion. “I pray you forgive me, Antony, and implore that you believe me when I say that the poison was not meant for you.” _

_ At that he stopped dead in his tracks, slowly turning his head to the man. _

_ “My intended plan was to be rid of you; whereas your Gaul whore was to be made an example of. Worry not, for it was never my intention to kill her. Such a pity, for I intended to make her and her bastards my slaves. Had I known she would inevitably drink from the same wine, I would have chosen a painless elixir.” _

_ Antony clenched his hands into fists, his eyes burning with tears of rage as the now trembling man finished. _

_ “To prove how truly sorry I am, I have sent you the man who put the poison in the barrel, and he stands before you in my stead.” _

The very same man was still there, in a special dungeon, where Antony visited him often to play. He made sure the man was kept alive; and for as long as Antony himself draw breath, each more painful than the last, so would that man.

He never told Octavia. A brief exchange with her made it clear that she was unaware of her brother’s actions. Instead, he asked her to care for  _ her  _ children, and then ordered to tell everybody that he had cast her out.

In her last letter, she implored him to not lose contact with Antonia, to bring her to Egypt, even if for a few days.

He refused, and she never wrote again.

In truth, he couldn’t bring himself to look at Antonia. The last time he had seen her, she was no more than an infant, crying with her face buried in Octavia’s skirt as her mother’s body was set on fire. Even then, their likeness was obvious, and his ex-wife’s letters often spoke of how with each passing day, the girl resmebled her mother more and more, in both looks and wits.

He had no doubt that it was truth, and because of that he couldn’t see her.

“They should be with you.” came a harsh, trembling voice from behind him.

He closed his eyes.

“Go. Away.”

“She loves you and she needs you, Antony! Please!”

He stood up and turned to look at her, raising an accusing finger in her direction.

“Go. Away!”

_ She  _ looked at him through tear-filled eyes. Her face was clear of all blood, as were her clothes, and even though she looked beautiful, he was sure his memory wasn’t doing her justice.

“I can’t go away. I’m part of your mind, you know this. We’ve talked about it before.”

He stared at her, the ache in him returning with fullforce.

For a second, his hand flew to the knife he had tied to his hips, the temptation of joining her almost too great.

Her eyes followed the movement of the hand so he stopped.

“I’m going to win this.” he told her,...or him...he wasn’t so sure anymore.

She smiled indulgently.

“Of course.”

“Octavian will pay for what he did.”

“And then what, my darling?” she asked, her voice soft like silk, tilting her head.

She didn’t try to approach him this time, and he was thankful.

“What?”

“You will avenge me; what next?”

Antony opened his mouth, then closed it. What then?

For years, his goal had been to solve the mystery of her death. Who wanted him dead? The list was long, but who was stupid enough, who had so little to lose as to try and kill him?

Then he found the culprit, and his mission changed. He wanted revenge. An eye for an eye. He considered holding Octavia hostage, but then thought of  _ her _ , and how fond she was of his ex-wife, and allowed her to go instead, knowing she was the only one he could trust with  _ her  _ children.

He would capture Octavian, torture him until he died, and then what?

He’d still be husband to a queen. He could unite Rome and Egypt, and finally bring some pace and maybe even some reforms to take place; but that didn’t mean anything to him anymore. His treasure would still be dead, his children would still hate him. 

He’d have Rome but the only woman he wanted to share it with was long gone, the only traces of her passing through the world some people he was too much of a coward to face and a figure only he could see.

He huffed, trying to smile through his tears as she looked at him, both of them broken hearted.

“Look at me. Turning down power for a woman.”

She smiled.

“Age made you soft.” was her teasing response.

He laughed, a broken, strengthless sound that didn’t expand through the room.

He eyed her.

“Are you truly just in my head?”

She shrugged, looking at the big map that hung in the wall.

“I can pretend to be whatever you want me to, but that won’t be good for you.”

“And you cared so much.” he said, sarcasm evident in his tone.

She found his eyes again.

“You know I did. And yet you insult my memory with her.”

He turned around in time to see Cleopatra approaching. Antony faced away from her again, quickly swallowing down his tears and helping himself to another cup of wine.

“I’m doing this for you, my love.”he muttered, bringing the cup to his lips.

“I know.”was  _ her  _ bitter answer as she disappeared in a puff of smoke.

“What are you doing for me?” asked Cleopatra, smiling charmingly as she approached to kiss him.

Antony let her,  _ her  _ accusation hanging heavy in the air, making it harder to breathe.

He looked at Cleopatra. By far, the Egyptian queen wasn’t his Princess of Gaul, but there was a small ghost of her in the way she moved, spoke and smiled that had him clinging like an addict.

He often wondered if she knew his heart was elsewhere, but one could never really tell with her.

It had been a bit hard to tell with  _ her  _ as well, but he had plenty of time to learn how to.

But  _ she  _ was right. What would he do after Octavian finally died? There was nothing left for him.

Pushing through his pain, as he had grown accustomed to, he pointed at the map and started talking strategy, the weight of the dagger hanging from his hips doubled by a tenfold.

 


End file.
